


Like Peas in a Pod

by Nadler



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Animal Transformation, Dreams, Goalies, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: Antti doesn't remember much of the first time he shifted forms. He fell asleep. He woke up with blankets over him and worried parents, looking down at him.His father let out a sigh of relief."How do you feel?" Antti's mother asked, her hand on his face."I'm fine," he said, frowning. "What's wrong?"They told him that they were worried, but that he shifted in his sleep. They told him about soulmates and bonds in simple terms. They asked him if he had an idea where he met his soulmate because that's what happens, sometimes, what causes the change. About fifteen percent of people shift, and everyone has the dreams, of course.Antti'd get another chance, they said, when he told them he didn't know who or what they meant. Very few things keep soulmates apart for very long.Antti did not ask what he turned into, but he's a little disappointed when his parents tell him he isn't a lion.(Alternatively: “We goalies have a special bond” – Kari Lehtonen)





	Like Peas in a Pod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_milky_way](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_milky_way/gifts).



> Hey! I really, really enjoyed writing this for you. I hope you like it! <3
> 
> And thanks to everyone who let me shove this at them until I was less insecure and for catching my typos and for holding my hand. You're the best fandom friends a person can ask for!

Antti doesn't remember the moment he bonds with his soulmate. Most people bond like that, when they meet. It's supposed to be a seamless transition. 

It is; he was just a kid. He must have touched someone's skin, shaken someone's hand. Antti wonders how anyone ever really knows, if he could just go on and not realize he met his soulmate, but it turns out Antti's a special case.

Some soulmates, when they bond, are a little strange. It's not every pair, but it's uncommon enough to be unusual. Some heightened awareness is normal. It's not something terrifying. Or, Antti amends, as terrifying as you can be when you turn—shift—into something else. 

Though, if Antti turned into a bear, like some of the old stories say, that would be more intimidating. But he doesn't. His soulmate isn't, either; they're a matched set. 

No one tells him not to tell people that he can shift. It exists, but no one talks about it. Besides, there's no use in a goalie who flinches and goes furry when faced with a tough shot, and he's not going to be anywhere where he needs to be watched carefully. He's not going to eat anyone. 

Antti's dreams don't help, either. Vague dreams about your soulmate aren't even unusual, but it's frustrating. 

Also, sometimes he wakes up with a craving for hamburgers, which is inconvenient. 

* * *

Antti learns about soulmates when he is not quite nine, though of course, he had always known a little. There are books and movies and people ask, "What do you think your soulmate is like?" and "What do you want to be when you grow up?" with the same tone. 

"What do you dream of?" his mother asks him. That, too, is a soulmate thing. For most people, that's all it is, some shared dreams, a close, instant connection with the person who's the best for you. (At what, they don't tell him. He expects it's another one of those things that "you'll learn when you're older.")

"Hockey," Antti answers. It's true. Antti dreams of ice and the sound of skates slicing it. He dreams of skating and hockey and sometimes peaceful forests. He's young, and there's time for everything, even hockey. There's nothing notable about it, no places he doesn't recognize, nothing he hates.

In his last, vivid one, Jarmo Myllys asked for _his_ autograph, and while the scribble on the paper didn't quite look right, it wasn't anything to _complain_ about. Dreams are weird, and it was a good one. 

"I should have known," his mother says, laughing a little. It's the end of that line of questioning. 

Antti's fully ten before he realizes when people ask about your dreams, they ask if you've seen your soulmate in them. Antti doesn't have an answer to that one. Sometimes, Antti wishes he could be one of those people with an easy soulmate, who shows up in his dreams, who talks to him in them. 

* * *

Antti wakes up to a sunbathed beach. He stretches out under the sun. There's seagulls. It's a far cry from Finland, nicer than either Rockford or Chicago. 

He stretches out and looks toward the edge of the beach. Antti's far too young to feel his joints creak, but the warmth does them good, soaking in. He relaxes a little and looks around for a drink. A drink and a warm beach sounds like an ideal vacation.

There's a thud, and the waves crest higher and higher, moving towards him—

Antti blinks, looks up to a white ceiling and the smell of vomit around him. His hangover is killing him—but that can be excused for celebrating. It's coming back to him. He coughs, and he's not even going to try his voice right now. He'd just won the fucking Cup, after all. He's allowed to be a little unsettled. 

He should also figure out whose house he's in, but he expects to find some more teammates on the way out, so it's no harm. Unless he trips over them, but then that’s their own damn faults. 

* * *

Antti books a ticket to Cabo when his head starts throbbing a little less viciously. 

The best way to start an offseason, after copious amounts of drinking from a very shiny metal trophy, is probably relaxing on the beach, followed by a relaxed trip to a bar. 

"Congratulations," he hears, which isn't the odd part, even if it's in Mexico. Antti suspects that he'll be hearing congratulations up until the next season. Which is fine by him—there is still a little curl of pride that rises from his stomach to be validated, to have proven he could play hockey when few people were willing to take a chance on him. 

The odd part about the message is that it's in Finnish. 

Antti nods and turns around to see, well, Kari fucking Lehtonen. Maybe it's a little bit too much to know the guy who got drafted high the year you could have been, but Antti's never said he's above pettiness, and the world of Finnish hockey players is smaller than most people think. 

"Thanks." Antti tries to keep it brisk. He nods. Lehtonen approaches, and Antti resigns himself to the briefest of small talk, which he still hasn't quite mastered. Canadians chatter like birds, and he's not sure if the Americans are worse. 

"I'll buy you a drink," Lehtonen offers, turning and gesturing to the bartender to get two of whatever cocktail Antti ordered. "It's not every day a Finnish goalie wins the Cup." 

Antti wonders if it hurt to say that. 

He's not turning down a free drink, though. There are very few people who are bad drinking company, and Lehtonen's at least Finnish—it can't be worse than drinking with a Russian. 

Antti raises his glass and says, "It's not. What are you doing down here?" 

"The warm is good for my back," Lehtonen offers, punctuating with a grin that Antti can’t quite classify as sheepish. Lehtonen stretches, the line of his neck elongating, rolling out his broad shoulders, straining his shirt. "And it's the offseason. You’re not one of my trainers." 

"Are you already that old?" Antti asks, even though he knows Lehtonen's been out with surgery. Honestly, if he wasn't keeping track of the competition, what kind of athlete would Antti be? A part of Antti was hoping to play against him this year, to prove something, to whom, Antti doesn't know—but injuries dictate so many things in hockey. 

Lehtonen laughs, and it rings for a clear second. Then there's nothing but the sounds of sunshine and waves outside, and Antti gestures over for another round.

Antti thinks he likes that sound.

* * *

It is considerably warmer in San Jose than it was back in Chicago. 

Antti's dreams involve more sunshine than they used to, but that's only to be expected. 

* * *

The three things Antti has in common with Tuukka Rask are: they are goalies, they are Finnish, they play in the NHL. That does not make him any understand him anymore than anyone else. 

"I'm a bear," Tuukka Rask says, hands on his mask, breaking the hum of the chatter on the very first day of Olympic practice. 

Fucking hell, Antti thinks, they haven't even been in Russia for three days. He's used to the odd and superstitious, as all hockey players are, but that is not something you usually say to a room. 

"Yes, yes, we know you're a Bruin," Jokinen—Jussi, not Olli—counters, shrugging. "You've got it on your mask." 

"I shift into a real bear, too," Tuukka insists. "It doesn't matter, but I tell all my teammates." 

Antti now has four things in common with Tuukka. A good portion of the team nods and agrees, too, so Tuukka must be telling the truth. Also, it makes a great deal of sense. 

Teemu even says, "Well, it makes sense. If I had to pick anyone on this team out to be a shifter, he would be at the top." Antti wonders if that's part of his captainly responsibilities. To downplay that Tuukka just told everyone he's a shifter—but then again, Antti thinks, if he turned into a bear, he wouldn't be hiding it either. 

No one wants to fuck with a bear. 

"Who else would you pick?" Sasha Barkov asks, curious as only a rookie can really be. Also as confident as rookie good enough to make it to the Olympics can be. 

"Lasse? He has the face for it," Teemu throws out, easy as anything, like he's been asked this before. Maybe he has. Antti's not privy to many years' worth of Team Finland experiences, though if he really wanted to, he could embarrass Leo Komarov to an extreme degree. 

"He's single," someone chirps, presumably the guy that's on Kukkonen's team. If it’s as a way to defend his teammate, it's not a good defense, honestly. There are people who bond and don’t know it, like Antti, and there are people who just don’t get along with their soulmate. Hate can also be something that makes you better, oddly enough. 

"Hm, maybe Kari, then," Teemu continues. "He looks wily enough for it." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kari asks, possibly a little offended. He also argues, "And that's not a guess, don't act like you don't know." 

"You are my very favorite kärppä," Kimmo adds. That is also an A's job, to rein in the captain, Antti's pretty sure. "If that makes you feel better?" 

"I thought that was just what people called him?" Määttä asks. He pauses. "That is why that's his nickname, right? He doesn't turn into a fish or something?" 

Kari pulls a face at the thought of it. 

"Olli," Olli Jokinen says, in the way that all veterans learn to speak to rookies. "Buy me a drink and I will you tell you about what happened at the World Cup of Hockey." 

Kari turns away, to hide his flushing face. "Don't," he insists, very weakly, mostly to his pads. 

They have practice, anyway. They ride their little bikes in the Olympic streets. The Russians must have put their housing so far from the cafeteria on purpose, Antti swears. There's this sort of energy around the practice rink, even if Immonen almost trips over his Jopo on dismount. 

"When's the last time you biked?" Lepistö taunts, trying to look like he's not confused by this turn of events. 

"I don't know," grumbles Immonen. 

"Fuck, maybe at fifteen." Jokinen chooses the moment to also add, "So, Sasha, you should outrace us, no?"

Barkov doesn't answer. 

All Antti has to do is play—outplay the others for the chance to represent Finland. Half the life of a goalie is in their head, and he’s no different. This is no different.

The forwards mill about, like they've just learned to skate again. It hasn't been that long since they've been on European ice, surely. For goalies, the net doesn't change. 

They also have to wait for a bear before they take the ice. Now that Antti knows that Tuukka's a bear, it seems very, very obvious where his reputation comes from. Angry and destructive, mostly. Antti doesn’t blame him: it's hard to shake some of the lingering instincts, especially right after the shift back, but they always fade back eventually.

If Tuukka shifts before every game, that would also explain quite a lot. 

Antti doesn’t. Behind him, Antti can hear Kari sit down on a bench. When the turns to look, Kari’s eyes are bright and clear, alert. Antti wonders if _he_ shifts. 

They stretch, and Antti focuses on the ice. 

* * *

Antti abruptly realizes, in the middle of the night, what Jokinen’s remark means. It means Kari Lehtonen has been shifting into a stoat for at least ten years.

And, while Antti's never really been actively looking for his soulmate, whoever it was, once the thought's there, it's hard to shake. 

Antti doesn't remember the first time he heard about Kari—and honestly, he's not stupid. Antti's soulmate is Finnish, around his age, likely in his social circles. 

He should say something, at the very least. The worst he could say is _no, you’re not my soulmate_. 

* * *

Antti unpacks another toothbrush and does not say anything.

Maybe he should press, honestly, but it turns out there is no good way to approach the subject of soulmates with your roommate. Antti cannot see a time where he can ask if Kari and his soulmate enjoy changing coats in the winter. 

It’s not like there’s only one pair of stoats in the world. 

* * *

They play Sweden.

Antti's on the bench; Kari's in the net. Antti shouldn't seethe, shouldn't resent anyone. Except—the Olympics have progressed and he hasn't even played a minute. He doubles down on trying to impress at practice, but his fate is sealed. 

So is the team’s. They lose. Teemu, Leo, and Kimmo try to cultivate a little spark of hope in the room, but it doesn’t work—everyone sets out for gold, and they’re Finnish besides. They have to indulge their melancholy sometimes.

They’ll also have to win bronze, and Antti knows that they’ll be giving that start to Tuukka. 

Kari Lehtonen let in one goal too many, and they're not going to the final game. In retrospect, it's not a surprise at all to not see him after the game, having disappeared from the locker room as fast as possible. 

It's not a surprise, either, when there's a little ball of white fur in their room in the middle of Kari's bed. 

Antti feels a sudden pang, a sudden urge to shift, and at this point, it can't hurt. It smells safe, and if Antti had words at the moment, he'd likely still not find anything. Familiar, to say the least; a smattering of _safewarmlife_ home. 

Antti curls up next to the warm body next to him and falls asleep, chirping softly. 

They can talk about this in the morning.

* * *

It's easy to change back in one's sleep. Forcing a shift to human is the hardest when the other form doesn't quite understand why there would be anything else. 

It does not change the fact that fur is not clothing. Antti wakes up naked with Kari, equally naked, pressed to his back. 

Kari blinks, stirs, and Antti can just tell he's wearing out the last of his other senses, can feel the sharp inhalation against his neck. 

Antti waits for it. Mostly because Kari can't see his face right now and that's his only defense. There are very few explanations for this situation. 

"I don't have a hangover," Kari announces to the room, shocked, which, well, good for him. Antti doesn't either, which he attributes to the water he drank, and also how he didn't get shitfaced like someone who forgot they still have games to play. "Why the fuck are we naked? I was not that drunk last night."

He pauses. "We didn't?" 

"Oh, nice to know that you wouldn't sleep with me sober." Antti doesn't know why he says that, why he felt the need to bring up old history, why he couldn't let it remain something that happened once and that they'll never talk about again. In any case, he's definitely not looking Kari in the eye right now. There's an astounding silence in answer. Antti files that information away for later, really. He also looks over at an alarm clock. He slides away, finds some pants to pull on. "We don't want to be late for breakfast." 

"No," Kari agrees, "but what's the worst thing they can do?" 

"Have Teemu drag us outside naked?" 

There's a knock on the door, and Leo has come to take them to breakfast as punishment for answering, being too fucking cheerful for the moment. 

* * *

Antti doesn't intend to keep his realization a secret. He doesn't. Anyone can take a little time to realize that your fucking soulmate is also on the Olympic team. 

His first attempt is not so inspiring. He asks, "So who thought _Kärppä_ would be the funniest name for you?" 

"It was obvious?" Kari replies. He blinks at the sudden question, but it's just lunch, worse things have been said at the team table. 

"I don't think all the Canadians that get called Moose are actually moose," Ossi adds from across them, which might be his only intelligent comment that Antti's ever heard. “So we can be forgiven.” 

But yes, Antti concedes, it now seems obvious. It's only been a couple of days. He will, in fact, tell Kari before one of them leaves Sochi. 

* * *

Antti tries, and he fails to find the words. If he tells Kari right before they leave for the plane, that will be enough, he thinks. 

* * *

The afterparty is fun enough—the team and the families and the Team Finland officials celebrating a defended bronze. There are speeches in this ballroom and progressively drunker hockey players. 

Like most civilized people, Antti doesn't enjoy a lot of prolonged contact, but there's something about the simple joy of enjoying a win—enjoying a good hockey win—that gets past that. Also alcohol. He fends off Lehterä, who offers to open another bottle, only to get _hugged_. 

It's a longer hug than Antti's entirely comfortable with, but he plays with Jason Demers; there are worse things. He stills, though, because Kari _fucking_ Lehtonen is smelling him. 

"You smell like—" Kari starts, and then he stops. There aren't really any human words to describe sensations or smells from their other forms, but Kari's trying. Antti know he's trying. He freezes up. "You smell like—" and fuck, they're all doused with champagne from the high of winning an Olympic medal, and Kari's almost nuzzling into Antti's neck. 

When the fuck did Kari find time to shift? 

"Did you fucking swim in champagne?" Antti deflects. 

"Perks of shifting into something small," he says, in a way that some people might say was boyish charm but Antti knows it's just fucking smugness. "You could, too." 

Antti's adrenaline picks up. Kari knows. "You figured it out?" 

"Your fur has a different texture than mine," he says, by way of answer, and well, that says it all. Kari's more observant than he looks, sometimes. A pause. "Where the fuck were you for twenty years?" 

That's the real question.

"Same as you," Antti retorts, no real heart in it. "Playing hockey." 

One of the kids come swinging by, tripping on his own feet. Kari lets go, sending Antti a look that definitely means they're going to talk about this.

* * *

They're too drunk by the end to do more than stumble into bed, blurting nonsense. 

"Purple deer," Kari says, and Antti would worry except he remembers that dream, very vividly. "Why _purple_?" 

There should be other things to say here, something about how fate works in mysterious ways, about how many times they did and almost ran into each other. There should be talks about what they want to mean and what they want to do, they things they’ve for each other, the things that they think they want to do. 

Instead, Antti complains about Kari's boring dreams—his reality, almost. Kari does go pink when Antti dredges up the Sharks dreams and Myllys, but if he's honest, those were likely as much Antti as Kari. Antti’s the one that actually ended up with the Sharks, after all, and he doesn’t ask Kari if he wishes he’d been traded there, instead. That’s too far in the past. 

Later, Kari shifts, a little ball of white fur swimming in his clothes. Antti's kind enough to extract him from them, only to be thanked with soft snoring. 

And, Antti thinks, fair's fair. He shifts, too. 

He doesn't know if regular animals dream, but they do. 

* * *

When Antti's a teenager, he dreams of being more than the goalie on a junior B hockey team. He's a better goalie than this—and he has realistic goals, dreams he can reach. He sees every color of jersey in the Liiga in his dreams. There are the nights where every shot seems to go in, the net growing impossibly wide behind him—and then, there are the dreams where every puck nestles in his glove hand. 

He feels warm, and there's the bright glow of camaraderie, of shared hardships and _team_. Someone moves to hug him, and with the bright glow of victory, he doesn't even mind over the thickness of their pads. There's laughter and a murmur of well-wishes that follow. 

Antti likes those best. 

***

Antti calls Kari after Bill tells him, before the flood of messages arrive. 

“What,” Kari answers, brusquely like Antti’s just woken him up. Maybe he has. It takes Kari a moment to ask, “Are you coming to visit me after all?” 

“No.” He coughs, though the thought is appealing. The offseason is for many things, and he might still. “I’m going to _Dallas._ ”

There’s a stunned silence. Antti takes this moment to hang up the phone. 

He’s barely set the phone down when it rings. It’s Kari. 

Antti picks up.

Fate's a little funny like that.


End file.
